AKA The Art of the Deal
by Dollar Day
Summary: A standard missing person's case finds Jessica Jones facing a side of Hell's Kitchen that takes a more literal meaning to the neighborhood's underworldly moniker. And it doesn't help that her only lead is another bastard Englishman who seems to be just as broken as she is. But amidst all the chaos she has only one question: How the hell does this guy not have lung cancer yet?
1. AKA How The Fuck Did It Come to This?

_This takes place after "Quid Pro Quo" for Constantine and post Season 1 for Jessica Jones. I hope you enjoy._

 _Jessica Jones belongs to Marvel Comics and Constantine belongs to DC/Vertigo Comics._

 **AKA The Art of the Deal**

 **Prologue AKA How The Fuck Did It Come to This?**

Very few things in the world surprised her anymore. Sure, she may still receive the occasional shock or shattering scare or, more often than not, a haunting sense of paranoia, but nothing in this world ever truly surprised Jessica Jones. And not surprise in the sense of a fleeting disruption, but rather in the way that lingers and alters your world view forever. She had enough of those surprises as far as she was concerned. But unfortunately, the universe is rarely that cooperative.

It had been a week since she met him – officially, that is – at the Northampton Arms, and now she was here in what had now become the weirdest shit she'd ever faced in her life. In some dark alleyway near 5th Avenue she was face to face with some gargantuan skull-faced hellion, from God knows where, and bearing more tentacles than she was prepared to confront.

The sound of the creature's scream seemed to only be matched by the manifold explosions of glass shattering as the street lamps around them popped and fizzled out, slowly bringing that corner of the city into darkness.

Making a quick dodge from one of its lunges, she turned and ran back down the street. Despite not looking back, she could tell that she was being followed by the creature. A series of pops and shatters followed her, the sound of street lights going dark, as she ran back the library.

 _Goddamnit Jones, you couldn't leave well enough alone could you?_

Approaching the front of the library, she saw that the darkening streetscape was starting to engulf her on all sides. Having little options at this point, she readied herself to jump up and onto the library rooftop. And just before she made that leap, a familiar and slightly drunken voice broke her out of her adrenaline-fueled escape.

"Come on, you! Whatever you are, come kill me! I dare you!"

At those words, a harsh other-worldly cry seemed echoed off into the night and away from her. Blinking rapidly at what she just encountered, she quickly ran toward where the voice was coming from. Just around the corner, she saw the idiot who started it all staggering slightly on the street.

"If you can find enough of me to finish off!" He cried again, almost tripping on his own feet.

In what she would later consider as one of her moral lapses, she ran toward the trench-coated figure in a rather stupid and futile attempt to save him.

And right before she could reach him, she felt an impossibly powerful grip around her leg as the creature emerged from behind her and dragged her down and toward her. So much for super strength. As the creature dragged her up to its eye-level only one thought coursed through her mind.

 _How the fuck did I end up here again?_

* * *

 **So I started a new story. This is more of an experiment than anything else. I'll continue with it if things seem to go well, and by well I mean if the muses stick with me. But it should be noted that the updating of this story may be erratic seeing as I have no set schedule for it. Essentially, view this as an interesting writing exercise.**

 **Anyway, I hope you enjoy this intro and definitely expect at least a couple more chapters to come!**


	2. AKA Behold and Witness

**Chapter One AKA Behold and Witness**

 _"_ _In my line of work, you've got to learn how to live with monotony. Sure, there's always the occasional shattering of expectations when you unearth a new low in human depravity, but more often than not everyone lives with the same old sins. But in the end, it's better to welcome that mundane degradation. I know I do. Not because I want my world view of mankind being the worst to be justified even more, but because that kind of shit is way above my pay-grade."_

* * *

 ** _Hell's Kitchen, New York City_**

 ** _12:15 A.M._**

Jessica had been trailing the girl for almost an hour now. Now she was starting to get a bit impatient and anxious as her missing person's case had gone on far longer than usual. She couldn't blame herself this time though. It had only been a few weeks since she'd finally dealt with Kilgrave so now she was throwing herself into her work in an effort to distract from the whole ordeal she'd been through.

When she first took on Katie Gerardo's case, she assumed it would be the standard fare. Girl gets bored with her partner, finds someone else, falls in love, runs away with them and drops off the radar leaving the poor ex to wonder what the hell happened without ever knowing what happened to her. At least it sounded like it when Katie's current girlfriend approached her with the case.

But then things took an interesting turn when she discovered the police report about the massacre that took place in some club over at West 44th Street. Every single band member was found sliced up, bloodied, cut-open along with everyone on their payroll. All except a particular fashion student/stylist.

And so, despite her better judgement, Jessica managed to find Katie and trail her for the last hour. Which was frankly short of a miracle considering that after twelve days of searching she only managed to find her when she spotted the young woman walking down the sidewalk on the other side of the street. She trailed Katie to one of the many dive bars in Hell's Kitchen, a dingy punk bar with some scattered graffiti and weird symbols painted on the windows.

Normally she would've just called the police at this point and let them arrest her, given the nature of the case, but she still had a contract to fulfill with her client. Find Katie Gerardo, get proof of her whereabouts and collect the fee. And considering how she only managed to find the girl just an hour ago, the authorities could wait until she was done with the girl.

Taking a good a look at the building, she made sure that no one was near before she jumped up and onto the building's fourth floor fire escape. It wasn't really flying but it was close enough.

 _Fancy-ass jumping. It gets the job done. Whatever._

Opening the adjacent window, she climbed into the building. Hell's Kitchen was known for attracting its fair share of New York's 'eccentric' crowd, but even that fact didn't prepare her for the multiple levels of weird shit that this case would unfold, starting with the room she entered. Covering the walls, red painted – or what she hoped was red painted – phrases ranging from "forgive me" to "spare me damnation's flame" to some phrases she recognized as Latin but didn't know what it meant. On the ceiling was some weird occultish looking symbol, a triangle with a flame inside and three arrows jutting out from one side all encompassed by a circle. And on the floor, scattered papers, torn books and a whole mess of splintered wood as if a table exploded or something.

 _Well, this isn't fucking creepy as shit._ Jessica thought as she did her best to suppress that uneasy feeling that had started to build in her stomach. _Just go in, get the pictures and get out._

Stepping toward the door she felt herself stumble on something that she had stepped on. Looking down she saw it was a small crucifix. It seemed to draw her intention in some unexplainable way seeing as she picked it up off the floor. She stared at it for a moment, before she was brought back to her senses by the faint sound of voices from somewhere below. She placed the crucifix back in her pocket before stepping out of the room to investigate.

 _Stay focused Jones._

The building seemed to be stripped bare, seeing as all the other floors were hollowed out, almost no doors between the fourth floor and the ground level. She approached the door that led to the bar and slowly stepped through. The sound of music and chatter grew stronger as she walked down the hall toward the light at the end of the hallway.

Positioning herself near the edge of the hallway, she peaked around the corner and saw Katie sitting at the bar. She had blue-dyed hair all tied up in a bun, with a white blouse and a short blue skirt. She seemed on edge, nursing a drink in one hand, while the other was grasping something around her neck.

Getting out her camera, Jessica readied herself to take her pictures of the girl's whereabouts and hopefully she could find some inkling as to why she was on the run.

Katie downed the rest of the drink before letting out a tired sigh. Looking down at the pendant that she was clutching, Jessica noticed that she seemed on edge, yet somehow was calm enough to appear out in a public place. She knew she was involved somehow in the massacre but whether or not she was just running away from the people who did it or if she was the one responsible seemed to be up in the air.

 _Best not speculate too early. After all it's better to let the police handle all that crap._

Jessica took a few shots of Katie, making sure to keep out of sight not only from the young woman but from the rest of the club patrons. But whatever suspicions Jessica had about the girl before, all seemed to disappear upon the sight of the new arrival.

"Hey, I need to pay…" Katie called out timidly to the bartender who seemed to pre-occupied in cleaning the bar.

"Already, luv? We haven't gotten a chance to know each other." A gruff accented voice popped up from behind her.

Turning to face the mysterious voice, Katie was surprised – along with Jessica from her hiding spot – to see the grim-looking face of a blonde man in a suit and trench-coat smiling at her with a devious grin.

Jessica noted that the man was English going by the way he talked. His demeanor, posture, and sense of dress all gave off the impression that he was the type of man not to be trusted and one who was used to getting what he wants.

 _More British jackwagons. Fan-fucking-tastic. As long as he doesn't have mind control, I can deal…_

She steadied her breathing before she got out her smart phone and started recording the burgeoning conversation. She quickly focused her attention back onto Katie.

"Whoa, sorry there. Didn't mean to startle you."

"No, I'm sorry, you're fine." She stuttered out.

"Well now I feel like aright arse. I see a pretty girl sitting by her lonesome and what, scare her to half to death?"

"Just been a weird few days. But they're starting to look up I think." Katie replied, gripping the necklace she had around her neck. "I'm safe now. Finally safe. You just made me think… but no… it's over now."

"Buy me a drink. I'll let you tell me about it." The Englishman replied with a soft grin and levity in his voice.

"That line actually work?"

"Occasionally."

Jessica rolled her eyes at the Englishman's attempt at 'charm' as she discreetly snapped a few more shots of him and Katie. But now she was intrigued. Whatever the hell it was that this girl found herself in, she was in it deep. And despite what Katie thought, Jess's sixth sense told her that this girl was still somewhere deep in the fire.

"I've had a few weird days here and there in my life. Maybe I could be some kind of help." He continued, his voice softening slightly.

"Nothing like this…" Katie sighed as her head dropped down slightly.

"Look at me." The Englishman waited until Katie was staring up into his eyes. "I'm serious. I can tell you're in a rough spot, whether you think you are anymore or not. And not the kind of rough spot that you can talk about with just anyone."

Katie noted the sincerity behind the man's voice as he finished. "Let me help you."

Taking a deep breath, she hesitated before taking up the stranger's offer before she plucked up the courage to start her story.

"You go to places like this a lot?" She asked him.

"Not in a very long time."

"It's kinda what I do. I'm a stylist for musicians I make the get-ups they wear onstage. Special stuff. Weird stuff. It used to be easy." She lamented, her voice threatening to waiver. "All I wanted was it to be easy again."

Leaning onto the bar, the Englishman asked her, "What did you do, Katie?"

"N-Nothing." She replied far too quickly and far too nervously for anyone to believe her. "Nothing at all."

Jessica noted that the girl had a far-off look in her eyes as if she was recounting the events that led to her dropping off the grid.

"I mean, sure I got these jackets off of a rough crowd. Really great ones too… this perfect kind of leather. With these patterns you wouldn't believe. They caught the light perfectly. Wear it onstage, you look like a bad-ass from another freaking world." She smiled slightly, before frowning at her recollections. "But the price… the price was a bit steeper than I expected."

All of the girl's confessions seemed to answer the questions that Jessica had swirling in her mind, yet there was something off about it. It was as if she was telling the truth but lacking purposefully on details, as if the nature of her experience was too traumatic for her to say out loud in full detail.

 _But there's something here that doesn't add up…_

"So a girl on the run. That's pretty exciting." The Englishman remarked.

"Sure yeah…" Katie drifted off, clutching the necklace around her neck even tighter. "I had this one client. I knew she'd dealt with, well, _buyers_ like this before. She said she knew a way to keep them from finding me."

"What on earth could do that?" He asked, curious as to what the girl had for protection.

"Would you believe it if I said it was this stupid guitar pick? I mean, have you ever heard anything so dumb?" She chuckled softly before holding up a guitar pick to show the man. "But it's working."

"Let me take a peek." He held out his hand and inspected the guitar pick.

"It's an old brand, they don't make picks anymore. You ever see one like it?"

"Once upon a time." The man said staring into the pick like it contained a myriad of histories and he was recounting all of them as if he'd lived them.

Taking a few more pictures she zoomed in with her camera to get a better look at the so-called 'lucky charm' that had supposedly kept Katie safe from whatever trouble she was in. It was plain with a silver finish, and nothing else save for two letters in bright gold on one side of the pick.

 ** _J.C._**

"The lady said as long as I wore it, it'd keep me safe. Apparently it belonged to some guy she used to know a million years ago." She continued, feeling herself be more safe and secure in the presence of the guitar pick. "Someone who was good at getting out of his responsibilities. Didn't sound like she liked him much."

Jessica snorted slightly from her hiding spot. Whoever owned the thing sounded quite a lot like her. Only more of a dick.

The Englishman only smiled in response, his hands still maintaining a hold of the guitar pick.

"As long as you wear it, right?" He asked, still studying the accessory in his hand.

"Right." Katie responded assuredly.

It was then that Jessica noted a change in the man's demeanor as his meager smile of curiosity turned into what could only be described as a shit-eating grin.

"Katie." She looked back up at him to meet his words. "You're **_not_** wearing it anymore."

And sure enough, in the stranger's hand was the guitar pick and the necklace it was attached to, fully dangling in his grip and unattached to Katie's neck.

"How did you… wait…" Her face was now lined with fear and paranoia as she asked the man a question she didn't want to ask. "How do you _know_ my name?"

Jessica's eyes widened as she instantly realized what was off about the conversation. If she'd just met the trench-coated weirdo at that moment, how did he know her name? She didn't introduce herself, and add the fact that he didn't give his name either, all made for what Jessica would call 'shit in the process of hitting the fan'.

 _Jesus! I'm a P.I.! How the fuck did I miss something like that?!_

"I know a lot of things about you, Katie." The Englishman started as he placed the guitar pick in his pocket. "I know about the deal you made. I know how many people have _died_ while you tried to throw off their scent. You said you were ready to pay the bartender, didn't you?"

Katie turned to the bartender and her face of paranoia turned into absolute fear as she stared into piercing red eyes that were returning her gaze. Looking around she noted that everyone in the bar seemed to be following suit, their skin starting to redden slightly and their eyes bright with a blood-red hue.

 _"_ _BEEN WONDERING WHEN WE'D GET A CHANCE TO CATCH UP."_ The bartender said with a slithering, reptilian voice that sounded like it had crawled up from the depths of Hell.

Jessica's eyes widened further when she saw the 'bartender' smiling back at Katie with a mouth that was far too big to be human and teeth all as long and sharp as steak knives. She didn't know it herself but she found herself starting to hyperventilate at the sight of a deteriorating situation.

"But… But you said you wanted to help!" Katie cried in fear at the Englishman next to her.

"Sorry, luv." Getting out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter, he quietly lit one and breathed out a puff of smoke in her direction. "I lied."

"Do you know what they'll do to me?" Katie asked in fear, begging for the man's help, anyone's help. "What kind of person are you?"

Watching the whole bar shift into their true demonic visages, every patron, worker and member of the house band, he turned her back to her and started to walk away as he answered her.

"Not a bloody superhero, that's for damn sure."

And without another word he stuffed his hands in his coat pockets and walked away from the soon-to-be bloodied site. Jessica watched helplessly as she saw the creatures starting to surround Katie, wanting to help but finding herself frozen in her place. She wasn't equipped to deal with… whatever screwed up shit was going down.

"Please! Help me!" Katie cried out as the creatures lept onto tables, blocked the exit, and flashed their bright, sharp teeth.

 _"_ _NOO MORE HELP FOR YOU, KAAAAATIEEE. WE HAAAAVE HELPPED YOU WEEELL AND FULL."_ One creature hissed out at the frightened girl. _"NOOOW YOU GIVE USSSS YOUR SKIINNN!"_

Jessica looked on in petrified fright as she saw the creatures, like a pack of hyenas on a gazelle, leap at her and started piercing Katie with their razor-like limbs and biting at her with their massive teeth. She turned back and away closing her eyes as she saw the shadows of the horrific sight on the hallway walls. Katie's body pierced by the limbs of three of the creatures was held up like a carcass on display as the rest of the red-eyed beasts proceeded to use their own claws to skin the poor girl alive.

"The trouble with unfinished business is it always manages to catch up to you, doesn't it?" The Englishman finished, musing slightly to himself as his voice faded away.

The sound of Katie's screams, of her flesh being punctured and skinned was too much for Jessica as she started to hyperventilate. Taking in a few deep breaths she ran away from the scene and back upstairs and into one of the old building's empty rooms. Sliding down onto the floor, she closed her eyes and began to repeat quietly to herself.

 _Birch Street. Higgins Drive. Cobalt Lane. Birch Street. Higgins Drive. Cobalt Lane. Birch Street…_

And after a few moments she felt calm enough and opened her eyes slowly. Either she was there for longer than she thought or the whole mess downstairs was finished faster than she expected given that there was complete silence from downstairs. Steeling herself, she took a few more calming breaths before she slowly got up from the floor and tilted her head slightly out the door to make sure she wasn't followed.

She saw that the coast was clear and the creatures didn't seem to follow her. Taking a few more calming breaths, she turned to look back out the doorway only to be greeted with the sight of one of the red-eyed monsters grinning intensely at her.

"Shit!" She yelled out, falling onto the floor, one of the contents of her pockets falling out as well.

 _"_ _WEELLL, IT APPPEARRSSS WE HAAVE A WITNESSSSS. NOW THAAT JUST WON'T DOOOOO."_

Under normal circumstances, Jessica Jones wouldn't have backed down from such a fight. But given that these were definitely far beyond normal circumstances she wouldn't feel too bad about running from this fight. As the creature stalked toward her, she crawled back slightly before she stopped. She felt her hand pressing down onto a piece of wood, the crucifix from the other room.

Now, Jessica wasn't one for religion but when confronted with some nightmarish beast, she'd be willing to accept that maybe those pricks who claimed that there was a Heaven and a Hell were right for once. She held the crucifix up in front of the beast in some idiotic attempt to compel the demon back into hell or whatever.

 _Screw you, I was panicking! You'd do the same thing in my place!_

In response, the creature only laughed, its cackles sounding shrill and otherworldly.

 _"_ _SUCH A FUUTILLEEE RESPONSEEE TO ONE'S OWN ENNNDDDD."_

Looking at the wooden crucifix in her hand and back up at the creature ready to pounce on her, Jessica came to one simple conclusion.

 _Oh, fuck it._

And she quickly jumped out and away from the creature, ran toward the window and leapt through it, glass shattering as she broke through. She closed her eyes and readied herself for a hard landing onto the pavement. So, imagine her surprise when that didn't happen.

Instead she felt herself land onto the ground without any problem. In fact, it felt as if she had just taken a small step forward. Opening her eyes, she found that she was outside her apartment building on West 46th Street. Steadying her breathing she looked around and made sure that nothing had followed her.

A few people walking past, all enjoying their night. But none looking like the malformed entities that she had encountered back at that club.

Feeling that she was somewhat safe, she collapsed onto the front steps of the building and held her head in her hands.

 _Well, this just got a helluva lot more complicated._

Pondering just how she would explain all this to her client, she heard the faint sound of footsteps approaching her. She jerked her head up to see the strange man from the bar. The same one who had left Katie in the hands of whatever those things were in the bar.

Clad in a mid-length trench coat, a dress shirt, black slacks, boots and a red tie that seemed to hang loosely around his collar, she could make out his face for the first time clearly. Dirty-blonde hair, a curled lip, a heavy five o'clock shadow, and a cigarette hanging in his mouth. She knew that it would take more digging around to find out who or what he was, but she knew she wanted answers, and she'd be damned if she would let the English prick get away with it.

The man stopped mid-stride and turned to her, staring curiously into her eyes. She glared back at him, making her hostility known. He only gave a small grin back at her dagger-eyed stare. Taking the cigarette from his mouth he dropped it on the floor and stepped on it. He stared down at the camera hanging around her neck and gave her a quick wink before continuing down the sidewalk and disappearing around a corner.

Jessica was fuming now. She was in too deep to be uninvolved. Her natural curiosity only got the better of her because she had witnessed far too many things that failed to make any sense. She just couldn't help herself.

And that curiosity only strengthened when the following morning yielded the annoying surprise that she was missing some pictures from her camera's sim card. The ones of Katie at the bar were still there, so she at least had something for her client, but any trace of the blonde Englishman had vanished as if she had never taken those pictures.

Rubbing her head with one of her hands, she finished her bottle of Jack Daniel's and grabbed her phone. Despite her tendency to keep things bottled up, this case was just too fucked up for her to deal with alone right now.

"Hey Trish. It's me… Yeah, yeah, I know… Look, is it alright if I come over later? I need to talk to someone about this case and I don't know who else I can tell… No, no. It's not about _him_. He's dead and this time he'll stay that way… It's just that this something else... something far outside my pay-grade."

 _Jessica Jones, what the hell are you getting yourself into?_

* * *

 **First impressions? I had a bit of fun writing this since I adapted it from one of the comics. And it was fun to really showcase just how morally ambiguous John Constantine is as a character. I think I might stick to this story for a while. It's not definite but it is quite tempting.**

 **If you want to know which comic it's from the intro to "Constantine: the Hellblazer" series.**

 **Anyway I hope you enjoy!**


	3. AKA Rain Check

**Chapter Two AKA Rain Check**

"Uh… could you run that by me again, Jess?"

Groaning in frustration, Jessica Jones threw her hands up in defeat. She knew that telling someone else about the weird shit that happened the other night and expecting a response that wasn't steeped in disbelief was at best a fleeting hope. Even if the person she was confessing to was Trish Walker.

"Jesus, forget it." Jessica downed the rest of her wine and started for the door. "I should've known that this was a stupid idea."

"No, come on Jess. I'm sorry, alright." Trish stopped her before she could go out the door. "Look, just run everything by me again and – "

"And what?" Jessica cried out. "You'll suddenly believe me when I repeat the fact that I saw some poor girl get ripped apart and flayed by a pack of fang-toothed crimson monsters?"

"Well, I'm sorry if it all sounds a bit…"

"Impossible?"

"I was going to say far-fetched – "

"Christ, Trish!" Jessica exploded, the stress of the case starting to mingle with the alcohol.

" – but I believe you." Trish replied, finishing her statement.

Staring back at her friend, Jessica highly doubted that sentiment. She knew that the world had lent itself to proving that it was stranger than anyone ever thought it could be, if her powers were proof of anything. But she knew that Trish trusted her through and through. She believed her when she told her about _him._ She was willing enough to help out, knowing the dangers that doing so came with.

 _That has to count to count for something, right?_

And despite her own suspicions that that was Trish's only reason for believing this cracked up tale, Jessica would take it.

"Really?"

"Yes, really!" Trish exclaimed, her answer seeming to calm her friend down enough. "Just, let me get my head around this fully."

Jessica rolled her eyes as Trish began to repeat literally everything she had just said. Everything from running into Katie on the street, to the nameless Englishman, to the girl's gruesome end, to ending up in front of her apartment building.

"Yes. That's everything that happened."

"That sounds like the same things that attacked the city a few years back."

"No, it's… this is different."

"How can you tell?"

"Because they only wanted Katie. They were after her specifically."

"Okay… so what are you going to?"

"I don't fricking know! This kind of shit is _way_ out of both our expertise." Jessica fidgeted slightly, uncomfortable at talking aloud about that night. "Besides, I didn't come here for your help."

"Then why did you tell me all this?"

"I just…" She took a few calming breaths before finishing. "I just needed someone to talk to is all. You know you're the only one I trust."

With those words Trish felt a wave of emotions hit her. Ever since the whole ordeal with Kilgrave, Jessica had seemed less than willing to throw herself fully back into what semblance of normality that she had. She seemed to retreat from the world just a little bit more. And that retreat included Trish Walker.

And now her best friend was here because she needed help. Not help with a case, but just someone to open up to. By the sound of it, Jess had stumbled into something that seemed to go deeper than she expected and now she didn't know where else to go or what else to do.

And the worst part of it was the fact that for the first time in her life, Trish didn't know how to respond.

Her silence must have stretched on longer than she expected seeing Jessica's face shift into one of resignation and tiredness. Grabbing her scarf and jacket she started toward the door.

"You know what, forget it."

"Jessica, wait." Trish moved in front of her friend. "Where are you going?"

"Back to the office. I need to retrace Katie's steps again."

"And you think you'll find something there?"

"Maybe. Hell, I don't know. We'll see." Jessica opened the door and paused before turning back to her best friend. "Look, I know that after everything that's happened the past few weeks, you probably don't want to get involved in anymore of this crazy shit – "

"Jess – "

"Trish, I just…" She sighed, taking a deep breath. "I just wanted to say thanks. For listening."

"You're welcome. I'm always here Jessica."

With a quiet nod she left Trish's loft and made her way out of the building.

* * *

 _"Everyone has secrets. If they didn't I'd be sure as hell out of a job. But it's the degree of madness that those secrets bring that really makes it hard to carry on. Cheating spouses, corporate fraud, all of that barely holds a candle to the flame that cases like these bring out._

 _Because just when you think you've seen the darkest a human being can go, there's someone out there waiting to prove you wrong."_

* * *

 ** _Two Days Later_**

She provided an update for her client, Georgina O'Keefe, Katie's ex-girlfriend. She didn't tell her much other than an update on her last known location, a comment on the trouble Katie had found herself in, and a few pictures. Obviously, the more improbable details were spared, including the matter of Katie's demise, but she implied enough that the end wouldn't be pretty. Despite the truth of the situation, she gave her word that she'd continue investigating as much as she could. After all, Jessica was a lot of things, but she wasn't heartless.

A resigned nod was all that Georgina could give as she accepted what the PI had given her.

Several hours revisiting Katie's credit card statements from the past few weeks yielded little information that she'd not already seen. Emptying the remaining contents of her whiskey bottle, she huffed to herself quietly. Reaching into one of her lower desk drawers, she pulled out another bottle and poured herself another glass. This case was starting to become too much for her to handle. She was starting to doubt that what she saw even happened.

 _Red-skinned monsters, teleporting, mysterious trench-coated men? All this sounds too fucked up even for me._

Jessica looked back at the case file she had assembled on Katie as her eyes settled on the picture of the young woman. Her mind was taken back to that night, hearing Katie's screams, the low growl of the creatures, the sound of skin being torn from flesh like torn cloth. A fate worse than death.

Closing her eyes, she forced herself to take a few deep, calming breaths. All that blood seemed to bring back fresh memories of her last major case. In her mind, the blood on her hands still felt fresh and raw. Names and faces starting to bubble up from the cauldron of her memories.

The empty glass in her hand started to crack under the strength of her grip. She knew Katie got into some deep shit, but whatever it was that had led her to her death, she didn't deserve it. And her mind suddenly reeled back to something that English guy said that night.

 _"_ _I know the deal you made. I know how many died while you tried to throw off their scent."_

Sitting back up in her seat, she started a new search:

 **Reported murders in the past two weeks**

Shifting through the stream of news articles, police reports, videos, interviews, and all other matter of media info that she could find on any suspected murders from the last two weeks she searched for any connections possible to Katie Gerardo. It took her a while but she managed to find a few possible cases that had a strong enough connection to her own case.

The sound of a door creaking caught her attention as she saw a familiar face enter her office.

"Malcolm, you'd better have a damn good reason for being here." She called out to her neighbor.

"I bought a new set of locks for your door." He replied, letting himself in without any worry of being kicked out by the prickly PI.

"You don't have to do any of this." She stated, the underlying tone evident in her words. _Why are you doing this?_

"I know. But I want to." Malcolm answered, setting down a plastic bag on her desk. "Besides it's been three weeks. Aren't you worried about unwanted guests?"

"What like you?" She asked, returning her gaze back to her laptop.

"Fair point, but I'm a useful unwanted guest."

"Just barely." Jessica muttered, downing the rest of her glass.

Moving to stand behind her seat, Malcolm took a look at the various pages of articles she had just shifted through.

"A new case?" He asked, curiosity bouncing from his voice.

"Sort of." She answered, slightly absent-minded too caught up in her work to actively try and get rid of her neighbor.

"Katie Gerardo." Malcolm read aloud from behind her. "You're still working on her case?"

"Yup."

"And how's it going?" He asked her hesitantly, noting her subdued frustration.

But instead of the pointed look of frustration mixed with impatience that he expected from her, she just stared off into the computer screen. She looked lost, or maybe traumatized, as if she were remembering something. His concern grew as he noted how the familiarity of that look, given how many times he had seen it in regards to a particular sore subject on Jess's part.

Closing her eyes, she forced herself not to think about that night. The sights, the sounds. How she fled, leaving Katie to her fate. She drank up the rest of her glass before turning back to him.

"Go home Malcolm." She said with an unexpected softness. It wasn't a demand or a threat. And that's what surprised him the most.

Opening his mouth to respond, he immediately thought better of it. He'd come to know Jessica Jones quite well since they became neighbors and he could tell that whatever was up with this case, was personal in some way. Despite his instincts telling him to help, to press on, to ask, he just gave her a quick nod.

"Alright Jess." He started for the door. "If you need any help, anything at all, you know where to find me."

Jessica nodded slightly, before the door closed and she was left once again with just herself, her work, and her alcohol. Letting out a breath, she poured another drink and shut her laptop. Getting out her phone, she replayed her recording from that night, trying to see if there were any details in it that she might've missed. It was lucky of her that the Brit didn't notice that she was recording his conversation with Katie, otherwise her only evidence of that night actually happening would've been snuffed out.

She replayed the recording over and over and over again. Taking note of every detail that her phone managed to pick up. And each time, there was one phrase that seemed to hit her the most.

"Not a bloody superhero, that's for damn sure."

Pause. Rewind. Play.

"Not a bloody superhero, that's for damn sure."

Pause. Rewind. Play.

"Not a bloody superhero, that's for damn sure."

After a few hours, she felt an intense tiredness sweep over her. Drinking up the last of the whiskey, she stopped replaying the conversation and sighed. Her eye lids instantly felt infinitely heavier than she could have ever imagined.

 _Maybe if I just rest my head a little…_

Her eyes closed as her dreams were plagued by the strange Englishman's voice and intonation repeating that phrase ad nauseam.

 _Not a bloody superhero, that's for damn sure._

* * *

Malcolm Ducasse sighed quietly as he finished the last of his sandwich. It had been a long couple of weeks for him and Jess. Despite the infallible knowledge that the cause of their pain and suffering was long gone, he still couldn't help but feel an unnerving sensation that somehow the nightmare would start all over again.

Setting aside those thoughts, he got ready for bed. He had just went in for a job interview that afternoon at a local music store. All in all, it had gone well for him and he was scheduled to start the next day. He felt a quick surge of confidence at that. He knew rebuilding his life wouldn't be easy, but at least now he had some sense that things would be okay.

If only he could give that to Jessica. By what he could tell, she had been working on a few cases just to take her mind off _him_. Even in death, he seemed to somehow plague them both. For now, all he could do was help out when he could and be a friend to her.

It wasn't much, but it was the best he could offer.

Despite her attempts to distance him from her, he still knew that she appreciated his attempts at helping. He could hear it in the faint intonations of her voice whenever he stopped by offering to help fix the damages done to her walls, or to clean up her apartment, or just providing insight into one of her cases. So, he still was willing to help out.

But the case she was working on right now seemed to bother her in a very certain way. Not like how she was dealing with the purple-suited asshole, but in a confused sort of manner. It was as if she just absolutely stuck. Being the closed-off person that she is, it was no surprise that she kicked him out.

 _She'll be fine. She's Jessica Jones._ He assured himself as he crawled into his bed. _You can always swing by again tomorrow anyway._

And with a growing sense of vibrancy, he closed his eyes and drifted to sleep.

* * *

On the rooftop of 485 West 46th Street, a hooded man began his ceremony, the likes of which had never been seen before. In the hollow throes of an aged and cracked voice, he uttered his ancient words in to the rising darkness above.

 _"_ _Eripe animam, flere sanguine venire ad me, et ponam te in somnum."_

His whispers acting as fuel to the engines of his arcane ritual, a black wisp of smoke coalesced from his hands and down into the pipes and ventilations below, searching for a new sacrifice. A captive. A soul.

That night, he had struck gold in his catch. A young man asleep in his bed. He saw the boys thoughts and the trials and tribulations he has had to face in his life. They flashed before him in succession.

 _A rough childhood. God-fearing parents. A desire to be good. Addiction. Enslavement. Freedom._

It was perfect. His was a fresh soul, and vulnerable too.

Come morning, Malcolm Ducasse would not awaken.

* * *

The piercing sound of her phone ringing shook her awake. She had fallen asleep at her desk again. Looking outside the window, she could see that the sun had shifted to a different angle than before. It appeared to be morning, going by the lively and active hustle and bustle of the city below. Checking her watch, she was greeted with the time: 9:56 A.M.

 _Fuck._

With a groan she sat up in her chair and picked up the landline to stave off the aching in her head. In her best 'I am sure as hell not hungover' voice, she answered.

"Alias Investigations. Jessica Jones speaking."

It was another desperate client. A young woman, all nerves and stutters, wanting her to look into her sister's disappearance. She wrote down her phone number, gave her the standard contract, and told her that she'd call back as soon as she got an update.

Ending the call, she rubbed her face trying to wake herself up. Ever since that day at the docks, she found her sleeping patterns had become more erratic than before. Granted when she could manage to get to sleep, she was a bit more at ease, it still didn't change the fact that she had found herself getting more restless.

 _So much for the little things._

Opening her inbox, she saw several messages from Trish, asking if she could come over or if she was even awake. Trish must have gotten impatient, she figured, because the last message read that she was on her way and that she'd be there in 20 minutes.

A knocking on the door and a recognizable silhouette from the window meant one thing.

"Trish, why are you here?" Jessica asked exasperated at her friend, having answered the door.

"Well, good morning to you too." Trish smirked as she walked past her friend into the apartment.

"Morning." She retorted plainly. "Now why are you here Trish? You know I'm still working a case."

"I know. I was just wondering if you wanted to go out for breakfast." The blonde replied, shrugging innocently in response.

"It's too early for this." Jessica replied shaking her head, going back to her desk.

"Jess, it's almost ten."

"Exactly."

With a sigh, Trish walked over to the mess of papers and empty bottles of booze that was Jessica's desk.

"Look, I know you've been working nonstop since you took down Kilgrave." She noted how Jess had winced slightly at the mention of his name. "But you need to take a short break. You're starting to burn yourself out."

"Is that it, then?" Jessica asked, her temper flaring up slightly. "You think I'm insane because of what I told you happened to Katie?"

"No! Dammit Jessica!" She exclaimed, throwing her hands up. "I don't think you're insane. I believe you, alright. You know that."

Jessica only gave a slight nod as she settled down back into her chair.

"I'm worried that you're overworking yourself." Trish explained, taking a breath. "Look, it's my day off. Come out with me. We can talk, have breakfast, your spiked coffee, whatever. I just don't want to see you push yourself too hard at your own expense."

Jessica Jones looked back up at her friend, her sister practically, and sighed. She knew that the last few weeks had been definitely taking a toll on her. All that pent-up energy that developed during her ordeal with Kilgrave needed to channel itself out of her system somehow. It was one of the reasons she threw herself so deep into her work.

She'd never say it aloud, but she knew that her friend had a point.

 _Dammit, Trish. You're right._

"Give me five minutes." Was all she said as she got up and headed toward her bathroom.

Rolling her eyes exaggeratedly, Trish smiled in victory. It was a small respite for the both of them but she knew that they both needed it. As she waited for Jessica, her eyes drifted to a plastic bag on the desk. Peering inside, there appeared to be a few sets of locks.

"Those are from Malcolm." Trish turned around to see her friend in her usual slightly disheveled state, leather jacket and all. "He must've forgotten them here when he came by the other day."

"A set of locks?"

"Yeah, they were supposed to be for me. Told him that I didn't need him fixing things around here."

Trish only raised her eyebrow, the damages from Will Simpson's assassination attempt still peppered throughout the room.

"Oh, shut up." Jessica replied to Trish's skeptical look.

Putting on her scarf, she grabbed the bag and walked over with Trish to Malcolm's apartment. She knocked on his door, a few times, even called out to him. When he failed to answer, she became a little concerned. She noticed that ever since Malcolm had kicked his drug habit, he was something of a n early riser. Curiosity getting the better of her, she forced open the door despite Trish's protests.

Looking around the apartment, she saw no signs of any disturbance. Placing the bag onto his kitchen table, she tried calling out for him again.

"Malcolm! You left your crap in my office yesterday. I'm putting it on the kitchen table." Still no response.

 _Maybe he's out? He mentioned something about a job interview the other day…_

Despite the rational part of her brain telling her that Malcolm was probably fine, something in her gut was telling her otherwise.

Turning the corner, she decided to make sure he was fine, hopefully just sleeping in. At the end of the hallway, she noticed that his bedroom door was slightly ajar. Walking over, she froze when she saw his hand peering out just slightly from the room. Panic settled into her system as she opened the door fully and was greeted with a terrible sight.

Malcolm was lying on his bedroom floor, sprawled out as if he had collapsed. Despite his eyes being open, he appeared unresponsive and unaware. But what shocked Jessica the most was the sight of blood dripping slowly yet steadily out from his nose. She quickly dropped down to the floor, and tried waking him up.

"Malcolm? Malcom. Come on, wake up."

Still no response, and the way he felt limp in her arms only fueled the fires of worry that had sparked inside her.

"Trish? Trish! Call an ambulance! Now!"

Looks like she would have to take a rain check on breakfast.

* * *

 **Okay, so after some heavy re-writes, I think I have something of an outline for this story. So maybe I'll end up sticking to it after all.**

 **Please, review! I'd love to hear your thoughts and opinions, just so long as you keep things civil.**


	4. AKA Not If I Can Help It

**Chapter Three AKA Not If I Can Help It**

The steady mechanical beeping of the cardiograph sounded like a haunting tone of impending doom to her ears, it's steady pace echoing in the empty hospital room. According to the doctor there was no medical explanation for what had induced his coma. His vital signs had been stable, there was no indication of violence or trauma on his person, and according to the police there was no evidence of a break in. It was as if Malcolm had simply dropped into a coma where he stood.

Standing beside his prostrated form, Jessica couldn't help but feel the swell of unfiltered worry coursing through her. What made it worse was the fact that there seemed to be nothing she could do to help him.

"Are you sure you can't do anything else?" She asked the doctor.

"We're keeping Mr. Ducasse here for observation, but other than that there's not much else we can do." He responded with a subdued frustration. "I'm sorry Ms. Jones, Ms. Walker."

Trish nodded and said her thanks to the doctor as Jessica remained silent, her eyes focused squarely on Malcolm.

"Jess…" Trish started, trying to find the right words to say.

"He's going to be fine." Jessica finished, a dead set look of determination in her eyes.

With a worried sigh, she placed a hand on Jess's shoulder not knowing what else she could do to help. "I've got to prepare for a charity event downtown soon. Are you going to be alright here on your own?

"I'm a big girl, Trish. I'll be fine." Jessica replied, her usual brand of sarcasm indicating that she was somewhat okay.

The door slammed shut, leaving only the electronic beat of the heart monitor and Jess's thoughts.

 _Crap-ass luck, eh? No asshole villain to pin this shit on this time Jones._

"You'll be alright Malcolm." The deathly silence that served as his reply could only add to her growing concern.

Taking a breath, she started to turn away until she halted at the sight of the silent television in the room that was broadcasting a news story. Grabbing the remote, she pressed turned on the volume.

 _" – only last week. With several cases reported in Brooklyn, Queens, and Manhattan, doctors have yet to identify the official cause of this outbreak of comas. As of yet, there has been no move by the CDC or the Mayor's office to begin any quarantine, but the cause still remains unkno – "_

Shutting the TV off, Jessica stepped out of Malcolm's room and left the hospital with more stress than she was happy to have.

 _And it's barely noon. So much for breakfast._

* * *

Under the broad daylight and myriad shadows of Manhattan, the crusty old dive bar where she glimpsed what may have been Hell, seemed less threatening or even imposing. There was a calm and an eeriness to it that made it stand out, but also allowed it blend into the character of New York.

Opening the door, she stepped inside and cautiously walked into the building. The whole room where the bloody flaying had occurred seemed quite different under the scrutiny of daylight hours. The few rays of sun that managed to find the frosted door of the drinking joint managed to illuminate the center of the room in a soft light, darkness surrounding the rest of the bar.

Cringing at the sudden creak that sounded as if it reverberated throughout the building, she cautiously stepped further inside and glanced over every inch of the room. Her brow furrowed in confusion, immediately recognizing that something was wrong.

She navigated the scattered seats and walked up to the bar, dragging her finger against its dusty surface.

 _That's the thing; dust._

 _Like it hasn't been touched in months, years even._

And even through the darkness, there was one simple fact that didn't escape her observations.

 _No blood? That's impossible._ She felt a surge of adrenaline, her thoughts trying to piece together her contradictory observations. _But then it shouldn't be possible for this place to be so crusty after the shit that happened that night._

Just as she reached the peak of her confusion, she heard a rattling noise to her left. The only thing to her left was a hallway, the same one she hid in the other night. Walking into the growing darkness, she heard another series of rattles and thuds, followed by what sounded like footsteps. Opening the door at the end, she quickly and quietly made her way up the stairs and into the rooms above. Clearly, she wasn't alone.

As she navigated the destitute building, she noticed that the sounds slowly getting louder as she traced an all too familiar path back up the stairs and stopping at the door of the same room she used to enter from her last visit.

While she'd never admit it, Jessica could feel her heart begin to pound in her chest. The possibility that those creatures that killed Katie were real was a concept that she dared not even entertain further than she already had. Sure, she had her fair share of dealing with weird shit. And in this day and age of Norse gods and ageless super-soldiers, it felt like anything was possible.

 _Aliens I can get, and psychotic mind-controlling rapists are at least plausible, but this shit? I mean…_

The sensation of stepping on a section of uneven floor halted her thoughts. Looking down at her boots, she saw the old crucifix that she had held the night of the incident. Picking it up, she felt for the briefest moment the same curiosity that drew her to it in the first place. But it left her as soon as it arrived.

Inspecting it, she didn't notice anything remarkable about the piece. It was old, and a bit worn, with rather ornate carving done to it. Other than that, it looked like something you'd expect to be hanging from a convent wall.

But she knew that there was something off about it. Thinking back to the events of the other night, she remembered running into one of those creatures. She remembered jumping out the window and ending up at the front door of her building, as if she teleported there. She remembered all of that happening _after_ she threw away the crucifix.

Without another thought, she placed it inside her bag.

The creak of a door opening brought her back to reality as she quickly hid herself away inside the room. She could just about hear the faint noise of footsteps and a voice coming from downstairs. Someone else was inside the building.

Jessica quietly steeled herself as she made out through the silence, the faint noise of footsteps making their way up the stairs. The wooden floors started creaking with the weight of whatever was in the building with her. Curling up her fist, she waited until the footsteps stopped at the entrance of the room she was in. And just as the figure walked into the room, Jessica immediately had it pinned against the wall with her fist up ready to strike.

The scant glimpses of daylight making their way through the nailed-up windows revealed the face of a frightened middle-aged man.

"Jesus! What the hell?" He cried out, his shoulder under her grip.

"Shut up." She replied hastily. "Who are you and what the hell are you doing here?"

"Ow! I'm the landlord! Who the hell are you?"

"I'm a P.I. You own this place?"

"Yeah, lady. Christ, are you going to let me go or – AH!"

"Just answer my questions and I won't snap you in two." Her frustration starting to seep as her grip on his shoulder tightened. "Is anyone renting this place out?"

"What? No!"

"How about the bar downstairs?"

"That bar shutdown months ago! No one's using it! The whole building's been vacant for the past few months! I'm getting ready to sell it to some big property management firm."

"Really, huh?" She frowned in disbelief.

"Yes, now can you let go of me please?"

"If you've already sold the place," She started ignoring the man's plea, "what the hell are you doing here?"

The man seemed hesitant to answer, but a quick shove back against the wall seemed to end any sense of reluctance or indeed burgeoning resistance.

"Okay! Okay! Okay, some guy approached me a few days ago. He asks me if he can rent out the building for a day, no questions asked. I tell him he must be crazy, but then he brings out five thousand bucks all in an envelope and he tells me that there'll be an extra thousand once he's done. Now, I'm not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, so I took the deal and told him there better be no property damage once he's through with whatever shit he was up to."

Taking all this information in, Jessica slowly released the fidgety landlord. "So, you're here to make sure there's no property damage."

"Yeah, after that little Limey prick conned me out of the deal." The man muttered, dusting himself off.

 _Limey?_ Jessica immediately perked up at those words. "He was British? And what do you mean conned you?"

"Huh? Oh, yeah. He was a Brit. Really weird accent too." He growled slightly to himself as he recalled the man. "And by conned me I mean, that the envelope that was supposed to carry the extra thousand he promised only had a deck of cards in it."

He complained, as he tossed out a whole mess of playing cards from his pocket onto the floor.

"What did he look like?"

"Um… blonde. Brown eyes too. He was wearing a cheap suit and a trench coat. He also smelled like cigarettes too."

 _Shit._ "Did he leave a name or anything?"

"He left a business card."

Digging through his other pocket, he got out a crumpled business card. It was stark white, with everything she needed to know in plain black font.

 _I got you now asshole._

* * *

 **Jess:**

 _I got a name._

 **Trish:**

 _?_

 **Jess:**

 _The asshole in the trench coat._

 **Jess:**

 _I finally have a name. He has a business card._

 **Jess:**

 _[image of John Constantine's business card, reads:_

 ** _JOHN CONSTANTINE_**

 ** _Exorcist, Demonologist, and Master of the Dark Arts_**

 ** _(404) 248 -7182_** _]_

 **Trish:**

 _"Master of the Dark Arts?"_

 **Jess:**

 _He's a con-artist._

 **Trish:**

 _And that makes things better?_

 **Jess:**

 _It makes things normal._

 **Trish:**

 _Well, you have the guy's number. So, now what are you going to do?_

 **Jess:**

 _Now I hunt him to the ends of the earth and kick his slimy, English, pretty-boy ass._

 **Jess:**

 _I might be busy for a while. Can you make sure to check on Malcolm later tonight?_

 **Trish:**

 _Sure thing Jess._

 **Trish:**

 _Love you._

 **Jess:**

 _Ugh_

 ** _Read 5:30 p.m._**

* * *

Trish sighed as she walked out of Malcolm's room at the hospital. The doctors had said that he still hadn't shown any signs of responsiveness. And given how he was just one in a slowly mounting series of unexplained coma cases.

 _Now I hunt him to the ends of the earth and kick his slimy, English, pretty-boy ass._

Trish shook her head as she re-read her recent text exchange with Jessica, slightly worried about just how far she was willing to go to find this mystery man. It wasn't the first time that she could tell when a case got to her friend, but there seemed to be an air of abnormality that seemed different from her other cases.

She put her phone back in her coat pocket as she walked down the hall toward the elevator. A single noise shook her out of her thoughts.

DING!

Quickening her pace, she held her hand out and called, "Hold the elevator!"

The lone figure standing inside seemed to regard her with a touch of amusement, seeing as he made no effort to hold the elevator for her.

"Wait! Wait! Are you going down?" And just as the words left her mouth, she got a good look at the man inside.

Her eyes widened in shock, as she took in the sight of a blonde man with tired eyes and a bemused expression staring back at her. He was dressed in a ruffled-up suit and a dirty trench coat and his mouth curled up in response, as he answered her question in a rough and, surprisingly, familiar English accent.

"Not if I can help it, luv."

As the doors closed in front of her, Trish felt her mouth gaping open in shock as it dawned on her where she had heard that voice before.

 _"Not a bloody superhero, that's for damn sure."_

The Englishman from Jess's recording.

The picture of the business card.

She was lost for words at the encounter as the realization of who she had just seen settled in.

 _That was him. That was the man that Jess was investigating._

 _That was John Constantine._

* * *

 **Wow. I owe you guys an explanation. Essentially, life got in the way.**

 **But I'm back with this story! And I do want you to know that while it might take a while to finish (there really isn't a schedule for this story), I'm not abandoning this story anytime soon. It's just going to progress at a snail's pace. Or rather, a very erratic pace. Really, it all depends on my schedule.**

 **But I do hope you enjoy!**


	5. AKA (404) 248-7182

**Chapter Four AKA (404) 248-7182**

 _There's an art to magic, despite what the cynics say. And there's more to it than just waving your hands about like a bloody nonce. It's different for everyone. In the end, it all depends on the person. But the one universal truth about it is that, boiled down to its rotten core, magic survives by distraction._

 _Getting your audience to look over there while the real show goes on here, that's the whole trick. When they believe that you've pulled a rabbit out of your hat, the trick is pulling the floppy-eared sod out, but the magic is getting it to look real. Simple? Sure. A pain in the arse to learn? Definitely. But it's a constant in every creed, religion, and belief. The philosophy, that is. Not actually pulling a rabbit out of a fucking hat._

 _And it's not so surprising really. You know what they say, "same rules apply". After all, magic is just when you trick the universe into believing some incredibly outrageous lie. I should know. I've told a few corkers in my time…_

* * *

He'd barely got back from New York when the scry map became active again. And of course, the damn thing would send him back to the same place he just left. Packing his bag, he and Zed headed off to deal with whatever chaos lay in store for them in the Big Apple.

While on the train, he tried calling Chas. Given that he was already in New York visiting his daughter, it'd be useful having him along. But any prospect of having his usually level-headed mate along were quickly dashed when his hollow voice replied on the other end of the phone.

"John… something's happened to Geraldine."

"I'm on my way."

Those words were all that he needed to hear. John had known Chas for a long time, and he knew that his friend would declare war on Heaven and Hell if it meant saving his daughter. And that kind of zeal mixed with magic never ended well.

 _Zeal and magic, just the last thing I need in all this bollocks._

If there was one thing that John loathed in this world, other than the obvious, it would be zealots. That unflinching, unwavering dedication to a cause that no matter what the consequence was a dangerous thing to be held especially amidst the darkness rearing its nasty head all across the country. Those people who'd broken into the Mill House, Zed's "family", were just another riotous group of zealots with plans of their own.

 _The Resurrection Crusade._

The sharp shudder sent his mind reeling back into the world as the plane landed on the tarmac. Out the window in the distance the all too familiar sight of the New York City skyline, glazed across the early morning sun, scattered any thoughts about cultists and demonic activity. For now, all he knew was that his best friend needed help. And he'd be damned if he let another child down.

 _Not again._

* * *

For the first time, something other than the unholy sound of her crappy neighbors woke her up from her drunken slumber. Allowing her eyes to be exposed to the daylight, she found herself lying prostrate on her couch, three empty whiskey bottles at her feet. For Jessica it was just another morning.

Fighting off her hangover, she got up and headed for the bathroom. Turning on the faucet, she ran her hands under the icy water, letting its sensation carry her back into the light of day. Looking into the mirror, she was greeted with the sight of her pale and ghastly face gazing back at her. It wasn't an unfamiliar sight of course, but it wasn't a welcome one either. Her face in the mirror only made her think about what she'd become. Her life, her future, all of the things she wasn't keen on thinking about.

Stepping back into the living room, she remembered how she'd ended up back in the couch in the first place. Papers, reports, photographs all scattered along her floor and all of them about one man.

 _John Constantine. John Fucking Constantine._

Navigating the mess surrounding her, her eyes fell upon the business card that had launched this whole mess. It was more than a necessary lead, it seemed to be the linchpin of all the information she'd been able to get on the man. And digging him yielded more information that seemed to make less and less sense.

Articles about him from all over the world mentioning strange activities and incidents and his name being linked in some fashion or other. Photos showing him at the crime scene of some strange murder or bizarre occult massacre. Even some fleeting mentions in some outdated music magazines and audio clips of what may have been the _worst_ punk song she'd ever heard. But the most common piece of news on him seems to have been a report about the death of a child back in England, some town called Newcastle. But there was nothing to suggest that he had any connection to Katie Gerardo, or anyone associated with her.

She'd hit a dead end. But there was one thing, however, that she'd yet to try.

 _This is a bad idea…_

Rubbing her hands over her face, she got out her phone and hesitantly started dialing the numbers printed on the crumpled business card. Time seemed to stretch into eternity as she only heard the ringing tone on the other end. After what felt like an eternity, there was a silent pause.

 _Great. Looks like he's not picking u-_

 ** _"Oi! This is John Constantine."_** And that initial remark was enough to make her heart jump, as the voice continued. **_"If you feel you've reached this message in error, then sod off you lucky bastard. The rest of you, go and leave a number… and lock the door. Cheers!"_**

"Shit." She swore, hanging up the phone. _It was only a goddamn voicemail!_

Looking back at her phone, she saw that she had a shit-load of missed calls from Trish, all of them from the past two days. She'd been so focused on gathering all that she could on this Constantine character, she'd neglected much contact with the outside world. Whatever she was calling for, it was probably for something more than brunch. Going to her contact list, she pressed Trish's number and waited for her to pick up.

* * *

 _Well, that was an absolute shit-show. But at least we got a lead._

Sulking in the back seat of Chas's yellow cab, he ran his hand over his face as the trio drove away from the army surplus store. They'd managed to track down the location of whoever was responsible for the recent coma outbreak, but it came at the cost of another life.

 _Poor Fennel…_

"John?"

Zed's voice caught his attention as he turned to face her. Her face was lined with concern as she stared back at him, expectedly.

"Hm?"

"Are you alright?"

 _Am I alright? I've just witnessed another old friend die on account of my actions. What do you think?_

"I'm fine." He answered dismissively, suppressing any guilt that he might've felt.

"Are you sure? Fennel was your friend." She carried on, concerned for her emotional well-being. "Even though you two weren't on the best of terms, it's alright to mourn – "

"Zed, I'm fine." He stated plainly just as he felt his phone vibrate in his chest pocket. "We've got a lead now, and that's all that matters."

Taking out his cellphone, his brow raised curiously as he saw a message left in his voicemail by an unfamiliar number. Answering the message, he placed the phone to his ear half-curious what the message would contain and half-curious what fresh hell it would bring.

 _YOU HAVE ONE NEW MESSAGE._

 ** _"…Shit."_**

 _BEEP._

With a confused expression, he looked back at his phone utterly perplexed by the message. He was used to his fair share of crank-callers, but there was something… odd about this. The voice, clearly a woman's, sounded almost disappointed. Checking his messages and emails, he saw nothing new sent to him.

 _So just what the bloody hell was that all about?_

"John," Zed spoke softly, "what happened to Fennel wasn't your fault."

Taking a breath, he looked back up in the rear-view mirror gazing tiredly back at the young psychic. There was a well-meaning optimism that emanated from her that seemed to draw him in. He'd be lying to himself if he said that he wasn't attracted to her. But this kind of attraction was different. And dangerous, particularly for her. He trusted Zed completely, and despite her never having admitted it to him, he could tell that trust was reciprocated completely too.

He opened his mouth slightly, wanting to thank her, disprove her, scream at her, say anything really. In the end though, all that came out was a sigh and a small nod. With a frown as resigned as John's guilt, she reached up her hand slowly to his shoulder, wanting to provide some comfort for him. But before she could reach out to him, his voice popped up again with a sudden fervor.

"Over there Chas. This should be the place."

With a soft sigh, Zed drew her hand back. She really wanted to get through to John, to connect with him. But at every time there was something holding him back. She knew that he had a difficult past, and that he had problems connecting with other people. At the same time, she knew that holding all that emotional trauma in couldn't be healthy for him.

 _Maybe one day. But for now, we've got work to do._

* * *

"You what?" Jessica exclaimed into her phone. "What do you mean you _saw_ him?"

"I mean I _saw_ him at the hospital. I've no idea what he was doing there, but I saw him in the hospital, just as he was getting in an elevator."

"Trish," Jess started warily. "Please tell me you didn't follow him."

"Of course, I followed him."

"Jesus Christ!" _What the hell was she thinking?_

"Calm down Jess. You know I can take care of myself."

"That's not the point!" She tried explaining calmly, "This is _my_ case. If something were to happen to you…"

"But nothing did. Alright. Besides, I didn't manage to tail him for long."

"Good. Alright, next time this kind of shit happens, don't follow. Just tell me."

"Alright, alright! Geez…"

"Now, what exactly happened?"

* * *

The charred and ashen remains of what was once Felix Faust's lab lay strewn across the inside of the rail yard. Amidst the dirt and dust and detritus, bits and pieces of flesh were roasted to a crisp. The bloodied and torn bits of what was once Chas Chandler and Felix Faust lay buried underneath the rubble and ash of the laboratory.

Outside of Haskins Railway Yard, emergency services were parked in front of the building. Police cars, ambulances, and even a fire engine were all there, all their crew surveying and assessing the damage caused by the explosion.

Leaning against a taxi, a man and a woman were contemplating the horror that they have witnessed.

"Sorry you had to see that." John apologized, a cigarette hanging between his fingers. "Chas's line of work is messy."

"So is yours." Renee replied with a scoff.

It may have been an uncouth thing to do, given the circumstances, but he chuckled at that remark. _Fair is fair._

"Is it painful for Chas?" She asked as if she dared herself to know the harsh truth.

"Excruciating." Was his only response.

"Uh, so how long does… this… take?"

"Well, it depends on how violent the death."

Recalling the old adage that Chas would always say about magic, she closed her eyes in sorrow. "There's always a cost."

"You're learning." Turning to her fully, he carried on. "Now, look, for what it's worth, I never meant to get between you and Chas. If I could go and change it all, I would. But it's not in the cards, and because of it, he's alive. So are a lot of other people. Including your daughter."

Renee considered the mage's words about her ex-husband. _Geraldine. She's alive because of him. Because as much as I loathe to admit it, this is what he does._

"She'll be waking up soon." John continued, confirming that at least her daughter would be okay. "You should go be with her."

Nodding solemnly, Renee Chandler walked away solemnly from the horrific scene. Despite knowing that Chas would be alright, she didn't like thinking about him dying. Seeing it play out in front of her for the first time was a sight that she'd never get out of her head. Talking to one of the paramedics, she got into the ambulance with them as they went back to the hospital.

Taking in one last puff of smoke from his cigarette, he tossed the nearly burnt out stub away. He took once last glance at the direction the ambulance drove away from, he sighed as he took in the madness that had unfolded.

 _Chas, you stupid sod. You just had to go and get yourself killed again, eh?_

Having already answered the police's questions, he decided to leave now. After all, the last thing that he wanted was to attract anymore attention than he already had. From behind him, his hopes were dashed as he heard a perk voice pop up from behind him.

"Excuse me, I'm here with Channel 4 News. Could you provide a statement for what's happened here?"

 _Shite._

* * *

It was nearing the end of visiting hours when she decided to visit Malcolm. Looking up, the hospital seemed to loom over her, serving as some kind of torturous house of traumatic memories. Ever since she'd woken up from the accident, she'd always associated hospitals with that traumatic day. And here she was now, on the other side of the situation, waiting for someone else to wake up. With a sigh, she took a quick swig from her flask and stepped inside.

The nurse at the front desk told her that visiting hours was ending soon but that she would give Jessica an extra half-hour. Giving her thanks to the nurse, she walked over to the elevator and stepped inside. Her mind was on overdrive, scattered across different fields. It wasn't an unfamiliar feeling. In the months piecing together her life after she escaped _him_ , she felt exhausted working with the ever-looming fact that she would potentially have to run into _him_ again.

But this time the source of motivation stemmed from a desire to actively find this man, this "Constantine" character and get him to explain just what the hell had happened. Despite her methodology, her core beliefs ran through the simple premise of logic and reason. And everything about John Constantine seemed to question those foundations.

Her ruminations were cut off when the doors parted open. Walking out and into the hallway, she headed over to Malcolm's room. When she opened the door, she was faced with the same sight as from a couple of days ago. He was still lying prostrate on the bed, in a deep comatose state. She didn't know why she expected any different. If anything, the black veins around his mouth seemed to indicate that his condition was getting worst.

"Hey Malcolm." She started, hesitantly. "Sorry for not checking up on you sooner."

The room was silent, the only sound being the continuous beep of the heart monitor that served as the only indicator that he was still alive.

"I've been busy. Still working on Katie Gerardo's case. Even got a lead."

Again, the steady beat of the heart monitor.

Tossing her bag onto the floor with a sigh, she closed her eyes in frustration. Not at herself, as much as her helplessness. This wasn't something that she could fix by herself. She couldn't punch some asshole into submission and make things all okay. So, she had to contend herself with watching a friend suffer for no greater reason than the heavy hand of fate deciding as such. There was nothing that she could do to make it right.

 _You make it goddamn right Jones!_

Shaking away the memory of the nightmare, she rolled her eyes at herself as she realized the full absurdity of her attempting even some vague sense of sentimentality.

 _Christ, I suck at this…_

Sitting down at the chair in front of him, she resigned herself to silence. Talking was always an awkward affair. It felt too much like she was talking to herself. Grabbing the remote control, she turned on the television and started flicking through the channels, figuring that anything distraction would be better than suffering through this void of silence. Eventually settling on the local news, she sat in quiet reflection, her attention drifting in and out of the news stories.

 _A robbery on 42nd St… some big legal case involving some hot-shot lawyer…more bullshit about Rand Enterprises… some Jazz Festival in Harlem… more people falling into comas…an explosion at some abandoned railway yard in Brooklyn…_

Her attention was just on the cusp of being drawn away from that last story, until she heard a familiar voice.

 _"Here's a statement for you. Go talk to the authorities. They're the ones who know what to make of this mess."_

 _"Isn't there anything else you could provide for- "_

 _"Sorry, luv. But no further comment."_

Looking up at the screen, she saw the visage of the man that had been occupying her thoughts for days now. Clad in the same suit and trench coat, he seemed to give the news cameras a look of disdain as he opened the door of the cab he was leaning against and climbed inside.

 _"Now do as a favor and sod off."_

 _We couldn't get any further comment from the witness, John Constantine. According to the police there was one other witness on the scene, a woman by the name of Renee Chandler. Speculation abounds, authorities have suspected that live explosives may have been involved. The official cause however remains to be seen._

Jessica felt her eyes bulge out of her sockets as the visage of the man whom she'd been hunting for the past few days appeared in front of her, on screen. But any thoughts dwelling on the Englishman were immediately scraped away when she heard a weak voice coming from behind her.

"Jess…?"

Turning around, she would receive another jarring shock to her system.

"Malcolm."

* * *

 _"One more thing. About your mother."_

 _"What about my mother?"_

 _"She said… her death wasn't your fault."_

 _"You saw my mother… Zed?"_

At her silence, having fallen back asleep, John slowly lied down next to her on the hospital bed. It had been a long night for all of them. Having dealt with Faust, Chas should have healed completely by now and on his way to see his wife and daughter. And Zed had almost died, her visions inducing what could've been a potentially fatal seizure.

Staring at the white hospital ceiling, he contemplated the words Zed had just spoken to him. The topic of his mother wasn't something that he could calmly talk about, let alone contemplate. It had been so long since he'd left his father's fists, spending all that time since with the burden of his mother's death. But to hear that there was a fleeting possibility that his mother didn't blame him for her passing was a comfort that he'd allow himself to have just for today.

Looking over at Zed's sleeping form, he sighed.

 _This battle may have been won, but the war still wages on._

 _The Darkness… it's rising._

* * *

 **I told you I wasn't abandoning this story! Anyway, in celebration of Matt Ryan's return as John Constantine at San Diego Comic Con, here's a slightly more Constantine-centric chapter. And yes, the reason that Malcolm was in a coma in the first place was due to the events in Constantine Season 1 Episode 10 "Quid Pro Quo".**

 **I hope you enjoy! And as always comments and criticisms are always welcome, so long as they're civil.**


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